The More The Merrier
by Social Escort
Summary: *RESURRECTED* It's Christmas! And that may mean fluff, or it may mean headaches, likely both.
1. Christmas Eve Pt1

**Author's Note: Having recently found this show and being utterly intrigued, I've decided to try my hand in the IPS fandom. The best part about WIPs is that the readers get some control over the story, too!**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing related to this show or it's characters. If I did, I'd still be writing it, but I'd be making money from it. But alas, I am not, and the joy still remains. No lawsuits, please ;)**

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The WITSEC office was scarcely decorated; a few strands of multi-colored lights ran across the crown molding, a few more clinging to a pitiful excuse for a tree. Empty boxes delicately wrapped in festive paper were scattered under the tree, all of them mysteriously from Santa, even though it was only early afternoon on Christmas Eve.

Mary had spent every free second glaring at Eleanor. The one place she could take solace from the Holidays had been turned into a cheap attraction, and she knew it was at least partially to get a rise out of her. And damn it all to hell, it was working. She could still recall the comment from earlier in the morning:

"It's always so gloomy around here," Eleanor had said, "especially with your sunny disposition." Mary had assured herself that if her phone hadn't started ringing - Silent Night, no less, which earned Marshall a disapproving death stare of his own - she would have thrown a sensational comeback right at the "pleasant office manager, who's only trying to help". Stan's words, not hers.

It had been Raph on the phone, just like it had been Raph on the phone every hour on the hour since six, confirming that they were still going out to dinner. She didn't mind the first couple of calls; she even thought of it as mildly sweet, as far as that goes, but by nine, her patience had worn thin. She assured Raph that their plans were still on and hastily snapped her phone back into it's clip on her belt.

"Just because Jesus had a birthday doesn't mean you had to screw with my phone, pea brain." She flopped back into her chair and ran a hand through her hair, wondering how many more unpleasant surprises her day had in store for her.

"You're absolutely right, Mary, except Jesus' birthday had nothing to do with it."

"Oh Christ." She dropped her head and banged it against her desk, knowing full well that Marshall was about to spout off more useless information that would intensify her headache.

"He was actually born in the summer. His birthday was moved to coincide with the traditional Pagan holiday that celebrated the winter solstice with lit fires and slaughtered goats."

Mary snorted. "Sounds better than listening to my mom get drunk and drown in self-pity while she makes Brandi cry, all the while pissing me off."

"And all of this leading up to your big dinner plans. I still cannot see why you hate holidays so much."

She waved off his comment with the flick of a finger and went back to sorting through the papers on her desk. She had every one of her witness files from the last year scattered about, knowing that people always got sentimental around this time and decided to get in touch with their families. After six years of it, she didn't even bother guessing how many relocations she would be looking at by New Year's. "Jesus, somebody just shoot me already."

"You know, according to suicide statistics, Monday is the favored day for self-destruction," he added, pretending to take a long drink of coffee while he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"Fine, shoot me Monday."

"If I shot you, it wouldn't be suicide."

"Call it euthanasia, then! What's up with you today? You usually take small breaks between doses of weird."

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's because Mark Twain was born on and died on days when Halley's Comet could be seen."

"You really need to switch to decaf, Slugger. It's rewiring your brain so even _I_ can't understand it. Not good."

"And why's that?"

"You're wearing cologne. You never wear cologne unless, God forbid, you have a date." Color crept to Marshall's face as he did his best to hide behind his computer monitor, knowing the onslaught of questions to come.

"You must not be smelling enough cinnamon," he said, hoping to distract her just long enough for him to make himself scarce.

"Come again, Cowboy?"

"Smelling cinnamon boosts cognitive function and memory. I wear cologne three days a week."

"Liar," she smirked. Catching him like this was definitely the high point of her day, and she intended to relish it. "So, spill the non-decaf beans. Who is she?"

He remained silent for a moment, contemplating his answer. "Shelley." He spoke the word slow and deliberately, exhaling to the point where he was essentially holding his breath, hesitant to meet her eyes.

"Shelly? Like... 'Hey, I'm here to shrink your head' psychologist Shelley?"

"I've heard she prefers to be addressed as Shelley Finkel, but yes, that Shelley."

"I thought she blew you off for the crybaby already. You barely date, let alone give girls second chances."

"How do you figure you know how many chances I give to whom?"

"I kinda bought a condo inside your head, remember? The clutter is atrocious, but it saves me time already knowing answers before I ask."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Because talking about relationships embarrasses you. How could you not see that?" Her half-smile had turned into a full blown shit-eating grin at the expense of Marshall's deeply colored complexion.

"Both Hitler and Napoleon were missing one testicle," he blurted as he rose, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Aw, come on," she cooed, "I didn't mean anything by it." She grabbed her own coat and closed the distance between them quickly. "You can tell me all about it while I let you buy me lunch."

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	2. Christmas Eve Pt2

**Author's Note: Since I'm not aware of the exact address of the Marshal Building in IPS, I used the U.S. Courthouse on Lomas Blvd to the best of my knowledge. All locations herein, even though they're real, are used fictitiously. Also, I have no idea what possessed me to do a Christmas fic. It was supposed to be a one-shot but, as usual, the characters control the story more than I.**

**Disclaimer: I own no part of this show whatsoever. In fact, I barely own the computer I'm typing this fic on so, as usual, no lawsuits.**

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"It's no big deal," he said for the fifth time since they'd reached the elevator.

"Of course not," she said casually, nudging him with her shoulder. "We'll take my car."

Marshall stopped dead in his tracks, his intense eyes focused on her. She'd stopped a couple feet ahead and had now turned to face him, confusion etched into her features. "Fine. I'll tell you over lunch. But we're not taking your car."

She held back a grin, knowing she'd won. "Why not?"

"That thing's a death trap. Neither of us may make it to date night." Mary did her best to look wounded by his remark, but it barely lasted three seconds.

"Deal."

"Subway?"

"You must be dreaming. Amer-Asia; I want good food to go with the juicy details."

"And now sushi is your idea of fine dining? Maybe we should take your car after all; Leonard's Automotive Repair is right across the street. If you show some skin, they might just put the Probe out of it's misery, free of charge." He knew the punch was coming even as he said the words, but the stinging feeling in his bicep was worth it. The longer he kept the attention off of him, the better off he was. He had a sneaking suspicion that once they were seated, all bets were off.

He spent the drive thinking about what to say to her. She, for whatever strange reason, was thankfully quiet, staring out at the derelict looking buildings on Slate Avenue. Whether or not her mind was truly elsewhere wasn't for him to say, but he was thankful for the silence.

He pulled up to the curb and looked around, still hesitant of his surroundings. It's not that he was scared of the neighborhood, he just preferred if his lunch wasn't interrupted by the sight of his hubcaps running off.

"Quit being a baby, nobody wants your rusty hubcaps." She was already halfway out of the truck by the time he pulled the key from the ignition.

"For one, I wasn't worried about my hubcaps," he lied. "Secondly, I make it a top priority to keep them clean as a whistle, unlike a certain blonde friend of mine." He anticipated another punch but it never came. Knowing Mary, she'd probably wail him out of the blue at a later time just to make sure he wasn't expecting it.

That was the thing about Mary; From one minute to the next, you could never tell if she was predictable or spontaneous, and the result was always surprising. It was one of the many traits that Marshall both admired and loathed about her.

They were seated a couple of minutes later, menus in hand, drinks on the way. "I haven't seen a single Asian in here," she commented, "except for that guy sitting in the back who looks like he ordered an entire buffet. What's up with that?"

"It's slightly less hurtful to call them Oriental, Mare."

"Again, how the hell does that answer my question?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe that's why it's Amer-Asia. Owned and operated by Americans who serve strictly Asian style cuisine."

"Why do you get to call them Asians and I don't? No fair."

"I was referring to their culture, not their appearance." He sat up a little straighter and adjusted his tie, his eyes roaming over the small restaurant.

"Whatever. So tell me about tonight. Where are you taking her? Why are you even going out with her?"

"Your mannerisms are quite trite, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I was raised in a barn and all that jazz. Now spill it, we had a deal."

"I plan on cooking dinner at her place," he said carefully. "Perhaps going for a stroll through the beautiful town of Albuquerque."

"Yeah, right. So why are you giving her another chance? That'll be awkward if crybaby calls whilst you're in the throes of passion with his ex."

"I realized something."

"What's that?"

"You sound infinitely smarter when you use smaller words." That comment earned him a sugar packed right below the eye. "Hey now, careful. My vision is my best quality, aside from my dazzling charm and my stunning good looks."

"Need I remind you it took you three tries to pass the eye exam when you renewed your license?"

"I had pink eye! Next question."

"No, same question. What's with the second chance? Is my little Mann falling in love?" She deliberately crooned out the last word, and he couldn't help but smile. Any time he saw her face light up instantly made his day better.

The seconds passed, the smile faded, his face sobered. He waited while the waitress set their drinks down and took their order, watching her hurry off before he continued. His elbows had ended up on the table and he leaned forward just slightly, "Who wants to be alone on Christmas Eve?"

Mary leaned back, perplexed by his response. It's not that he hid his feelings from her, because he rarely did. It was more of the fact that she couldn't recall him ever talking about being lonesome before. She chewed on the information for a minute, catching her bottom lip with her teeth as she always did when she was in thought. "I'll trade you."

"Sorry. Raph's not my type."

"Too dark?"

"Eh, I prefer blondes. Reminds me of the beach."

"Shelley's a brunette."

That caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed. "It's a dye job. She'll get there eventually." He kept his eyes trained on hers, trying to decide if she bought his cover-up. Thankfully, their lunch was served, and Mary Shannon rarely refuses food, especially when it allows her a valid reason to play with chopsticks.

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	3. Christmas Eve Pt3

**Author's Note: I'm having tremendous fun with this story. Just saying.**

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing, and still wish I did.**

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Lunch was finished in a semi-comfortable silence; Marshall mulling his words over in his head while Mary had more fun with two sticks of wood than a kid in a candy store. That is, until, she actually tried eating with them, which ended in a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, all clichés aside. The chopstick that she didn't snap, however, ended up in her pocket and Marshall briefly wondered what the hell a person would want with a single chopstick. He then thought better of it and decided not asking was the safer route.

When they returned to the office, there was a package resting peacefully on Mary's desk. It wasn't just a package, though, it was a present; a Christmas present. Marshall spotted it first and silently prayed that it was some kind of joke. You just don't buy presents for Mary; it's common sense.

She saw the gold and silver glittering in the afternoon sun and sighed heavily, probably a mix of frustration and pity for whomever bestowed this travesty on her. Stan saw the events playing out on her face and calmly sidled over to stand next to Marshall at Mary's desk.

"Who do you think was dumb enough to do that?" Marshall whispered through the side of his mouth, though it was audible across the entire room.

Damn silences.

Stan just shrugged and kept his eyes glued to Mary, her fingers deftly tearing through the paper. The box underneath was innocuous; standard brown cardboard, no writing or labels. Mary opened the flap farthest from her first, hiding the contents from prying eyes until she knew what it contained.

She reached down, her fingers brushing across it, her mouth agape. There was a stunned silence, everyone eager to know what was in the box, yet none of them dumb enough to ask. If she didn't hate it, then it was just as bad to interrupt her when she was speechless. After another moment of caresses, she turned the box around for all to see. The two men stared in astonishment, not fully believing what they were seeing.

"A Fliegler 2000," she murmured, returning her hand to stroke it's shiny gray coat. Her voice was as breathless as if her and Raph had just had spur-of-the-moment sex. Under other circumstances, Marshall may very well have committed that sound to memory, but now... He was stunned into submission. Everyone's eyes unanimously fell on Eleanor, still sitting at her desk looking busy.

"You've barely been here two months," Stan began, "and already you're the only person in the world who's been able to give Mary a gift she loves." His mind momentarily went back to the perfume and shoes he'd bought at one point, only have to his ideas shot down every time.

"History in the making," Marshall muttered, not sure whether to focus his eyes on Eleanor, Mary, or the stapler.

Eleanor stood up, file in hand, and made her way to the copier. "It was mostly for me, you know. I figured if she had one at home, she'd stop stapling all the files together." On the surface it seemed like a valid enough reason, given Mary's intense fascination with the office stapler, but there was a brief flash of emotion on the woman's face that said there was more to it. Mary remained motionless, her mouth trying to form words, her brain screaming "Stapler! Stapler! Stapler!" The only time she'd ever been happier to receive something was whenever one of her father's letters got to her. For this to be so high on the list, she didn't trust her ability to speak without possibly choking on tears.

With no other recourse, she simply walked over and enveloped the older woman in a genuine hug, her mind still lingering on thoughts of her father.

"You're welcome," Eleanor whispered, "but if you go soft on me, I'm going to take it back."

That brought Mary back to the present and she laughed as everyone returned to whatever business they had. As soon as all eyes were off of her and there was sound in the room, she sniffled and swallowed a lump, wiping at her eyes just to make damn sure.

She was about to return to her desk when she caught sight of her reflection in the window. She stared at it incredulously, disbelieving she almost cried over a stapler.  
"I better not be pregnant," she grumbled, stalking back to her desk to do busywork. It was about an hour later; Stan called Marshall into his office for some reason or another, and Mary took the opportunity to open her bottom right desk drawer. She grabbed the bottle of Dewar's by the neck and hurried over to Eleanor, setting it in her lap.

"Look," she started, "I don't really know you at all, but I really appreciate the gift. The gesture more than the stapler. No, wait, I actually like the stapler a little bit more. Anyway, I want you to have this." She ground her teeth together, never having been good with apologies. "And I'm sorry for the times when I cross the line when we bicker. Heat of the moment, hormones, territorial threat, whatever. Shit just happens. Merry Christmas, Eleanor." She didn't wait for a reply, just left the woman with a half-empty bottle of whiskey as she grabbed her coat. "Going home, Stan!" she called. "Call if you need me. Please need me. Hell awaits." The last sentence was spoken more to herself, but she kept walking nonetheless.

She was waiting for the elevator to ping when she felt her cell vibrate against her hip before it let out it's obnoxious default ring. Regardless of the sentiments, she'd be damned if she was going to listen to a polyphonic version of Silent Night every time her phone rang. She looked at the display and sighed, momentarily thinking they should've called it Sighlent Night, given her life.

"Yeah, Squish."

"Mom hit the liquor full swing. I just wanted to warn you. You probably already knew that, though. She's mom, and she's awake and it's a holiday and she's mom."

"Why the hell are you babbling like an eight year old with his hand in the cookie jar?"

"I'm not, I was just—,"

"Peter's there, isn't he?"

There was a slight pause, as if Brandi was contemplating her answer. "Yeah. So's Chico. It's getting colorful."

"Have no fear, little one, help is on the way," she said, intentionally lacing her departing remark with sarcasm.

It was going to be a long night.

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	4. Christmas Eve Pt4

**Author's Note: As you may have noticed, the time line isn't really sequential: Jinx relapsed after rehab, Mary and Raph still aren't engaged, Peter's still polite and rich and whatnot. I had no control over how the characters decided on all of this, but that's just how it is, I suppose.**

**Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing.**

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Mary had been halfway home when she remembered the Fliegler; it now lay temporarily forgotten on the corner of her desk. She mumbled a curse, briefly flirting with the idea of using it to staple Jinx's mouth shut. She wasn't sure if she'd rather prevent the binge drinking or the sob stories, but either way would've suited her just fine.

She eased the Probe into the driveway and killed the engine, her eyes focused on the front door. She wondered how long she could stay outside before someone noticed she was there. A couple of minutes passed before she realized she didn't have the quietest car on Earth and everyone was probably already aware of her presence. She let out a futile sigh and opened the door; time to man up.

"Ha, Mann up," she mumbled, shaking her head at the horrible pun.

She made a beeline to the kitchen, not acknowledging Brandi, Raph, or Peter until she had poured herself a drink. Peter was letting his eyes wander, non intrusive; Brandi was staring at her fingers, fidgeting and wringing her hands, and Raph was eying her intensely. It felt like she was being studied.

"Fine, hello to you, too," she said, throwing her head back with the shot of whiskey. "Where's Mom?"

"Bedroom. Probably gearing up to tell us how we're awful daughters. Again." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she hoped it didn't carry throughout the house. The last thing she needed was to fuel her mother's pity.

Raph was wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt, his hair not really messy but not really combed, either.

"Is that what you're wearing tonight?"

"I know you don't like fancy. So I didn't bother to dress fancy."

She seemed to mull it over for a moment, her head tilted just slightly. "Fair enough. Peter," she said, nodding her head at him.

"Hi." He smiled briefly, locking eyes with her for only a moment before diverting his gaze.

She wasn't sure what spurred the idea, but she walked over to the counter and picked up the keys to Jinx's convertible and slipped them in her pocket.

"Everyone out," she whispered, placing a finger to her lips for emphasis. She shut the door quietly behind her, trying to be as quick as possible. "Raph, I'll follow you to your place. Peter, Brandi, go out and celebrate Christmas or whatever it is that normal people do. Consider the reprieve my Christmas present to you all. And no, it's non-refundable. Now go, quick, and be quiet about it."

She waited for everyone else to pull away before she started her car, knowing full well that if Jinx was still conscious, she'd hear it and decide to "investigate". Sure enough, as soon as she backed out of the driveway, she saw her mother open the door and stare at her with a blank look in her eyes. Her hair was tousled, her clothes wrinkled, making her look like shoo-in for Raggedy Ann instead of Sweet Charity.

There was a fleeting moment right then when Mary felt bad for essentially bailing on her mother on Christmas Eve, but the logical part of her brain quickly took the reins. Jinx brought it on herself. If she wanted to stumble around, piss-drunk and starting trouble, there was no reason for Raph or Peter to have to deal with it. It just so happened it cost her her daughters' presence, also. She knew that when she returned home later, the self pity would boil into an out and out screaming contest, and she sincerely hoped that she drank so much that she'd have to take a cab home. She could walk in, yell at Jinx, and pass out easily on her bed. Her mother would be sober in the morning, for a little while, at least, and it'd be easier to talk to her then.

"Even the best laid plans go awry," she said sarcastically, seeing Raph's taillights light up in the distance.

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By the time she reached Raphael's apartment, the sun was finally beginning to dip towards the horizon. She vowed to herself that she was going to enjoy the rest of the night, spending time with her lover while relishing the rare solitude of not working. As if on cue, her phone rang out shrilly, cutting through the silence. She signaled for Raph to hold on as she unclipped her phone and glared at the display.

"Great," she mumbled. "Yeah, mom."

"Where is everybody?" Her speech was slurred, and she nearly stumbled over the words.

"I'm at Raph's. We have dinner plans, remember?"

"And Brandi?"

"I don't know. Peter probably took her out on the town."

"Where are my keys?" Her mother was becoming more incoherent as the conversation went on, and Mary assumed she was standing in the kitchen drinking as they spoke.

"How should I know, Mom? They're probably wherever you left them."

"I left them on the counter."

"Then they're probably on the counter," she said, growing agitated, forcing herself to calm down.

"No they're not! I checked!"

"Check again, Mom. I gotta go." She disconnected the call and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Lost her keys, I assume?" She hadn't heard Raph come up to her, but he was close enough now that she could feel his warmth.

"Yeah. Alcohol can kill a person's memory." He smiled at her and took her hand in his, his fingers delicately interlacing with her own.

"Let's go inside," he said, gently pulling her towards the house. "We have time to kill before dinner." The gleam in his eyes was noticeable, and Mary smiled knowingly.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day." She let herself be dragged to the door, hoping that some of her tension would soon get released.

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**I'm loving the reviews! Sorry for the delay of responses, I got kinda bogged down last night. All of the M/M shippers, don't hate me. There's still a long way to go. Four chapters in and I haven't made it to the end of what was supposed to be a one-shot. You won't be disappointed, though. Promise. **

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	5. Christmas Eve Pt5

**Author's Note: I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter up; I had intended for it be up by 3pm EST at the latest, and it's now 4:00am. I know, I fail. Forgive me?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the scenarios. I love me some scenarios.**

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Mary could distinctly feel the sheen of sweat that covered nearly every inch of her body. It was familiar and welcome, yet alien and intrusive. She knew she'd have to at least rinse off in the shower before they went out to dinner; she couldn't stand being dirty outside of the bedroom. Even then, there was a time limit for how long she could go without cleansing herself. She briefly remembered the times when she got angry with herself for falling asleep after a couple bouts of intense sex. She recalled waking up and smelling the scent; old sweat mixed with other equally stale bodily fluids, all of it permeating the air and assaulting her senses until she finally washed it away. She was quite fond of sex, but she never really got used to the smell that was left afterwards. Sheets were washed, the air was smothered in deodorizer and scented candles. She hated scented candles, but she hated the smell of old love marginally worse. She had considered incense at one point, but their smell was always too strong for her. It was as if the sticks knew no moderation.

She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was definitely something that made this last time more intense than it'd been since they first started seeing each other. The answer teased and flirted with the corners of her mind, never fully coming into focus regardless of how hard she tried to capture it.

"That's what I call going heels to Jesus," she sighed, rolling over and draping her arm over Raph's chest, momentarily content with not knowing the answer.

"Heels to Jesus?"

"Euphemism. Nevermind." She could still hear his heart thundering in her ear, and she smiled to herself. With her phone shut off, she had allowed herself one hour that was completely devoid of stress. She was now thankful for the decision; her muscles weren't as tense, though a select few of them ached a bit more. All in all, she had brought her stress level down while bringing her pleasure level up, and it was something she rarely achieved these days. She knew it wouldn't last for long, but a little was better than nothing.

When they first toppled onto the bed, sunlight had been shining through the window, casting long shadows of their naked bodies across the room; but now everything was bathed in the soft glow from the security lamp outside, and the ambience just felt comfortable. The thought of the slightest movement frustrated her, but she knew she'd have to get over it. She was busting her ass to let Raph know that she trying to move the relationship forward beyond sex, as crazy as it sounded, and refusing to move after sex didn't really assist her in making headway with her goals.

She was drawn out of her thoughts when Raph inhaled deeper than usual, his chest drawing in significantly more. She tilted her head and looked at him, expecting him to say something, knowing that he would.

"You stink." She smiled faintly as his words danced in her head. She knew it wasn't meant to be an insult and she didn't take it as one.

"Something tells me you're just trying to get me wet again." She winked at him and rolled away, letting her legs slide off the edge of the bed. The carpet was soft beneath her feet and for a second she wondered how rubbery her legs were going to feel once she stood up. She rose slowly, her hands braced and ready to catch her in case her legs rebelled. They did as they were told, though, and she turned to face him, ignoring his eyes wandering over her body. "Come on, we need to shower and head out. And no sex." She emphasized the last sentence, knowing that once they got started, there was very little that could stop them. Quickies were reserved strictly for when she had to work or he had practice; and now that he was "retired" and she was technically off the clock, the slightest gesture could lead to another hour in the apartment.

Her stomach grumbled, sensing her second thoughts about more sex, and she sighed into the dimness of the room.

"Is something wrong?" He was propped up on one elbow now, his eyes narrowed, focused on her with concern.

"Technically? No. I was thinking about jumping on top of you again, but my stomach definitely has other plans. Let's go, get up. I can't spend Christmas Eve with a smelly Dominican." She smiled clearly to make sure he knew she was only joking as she made her way around the bed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up, forcing herself to ignore the sight of him in front of her. "If we hurry, we can go eat and come back for more sex before I have to go." Her thoughts of getting drunk enough to ignore Jinx were overridden by her desire for physical contact. She knew she could just stay at Raph's, and the idea had crossed her mind on more than one occasion, but every time her and Brandi were in the same city, they always woke up in the same place on Christmas morning. It was one of the few things they shared that could be loosely considered as a tradition, and she always did her best to honor it, despite her sister's many flaws. Hell, she had enough flaws of her own; just because she was a U.S. Marshal didn't automatically make her better than others. It just meant she had a cooler job title than most.

"No sex," he promised, squeezing her hand. He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers in a chaste kiss before pulling her towards the bathroom.

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"No sex" had turned out to be false hopes. She should've known as much; Raph only had a small stand-in shower. Their two bodies, naked and wet, pressing against each other... It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how it would end up. She sought solace in the fact that they'd only spent about twenty minutes in the shower. The image of her handprint on the wet tile was burned into her memory as she strode back into the bedroom, slipping on her clothes piece by piece. There was an extra sway in her hips, more strut in her step as her body felt better than it had in a while. The bathroom endeavor had been just as intense as the bedroom, and she couldn't help wondering what the reason was. She couldn't be falling in love with him. Sure, she loved him. She loved him a lot; but it was almost all on a physical level. She knew he'd break his neck to be there for her emotionally and all that sappy shit, but she wasn't ready to show that side of herself to him. She didn't even see it happening in the near future.

With love out of the way, her struggle for answers became more demanding. This was the first Christmas Eve they'd shared together, but given her lack of sentiment for the holidays, she didn't really think that it would cause her orgasms to nearly double in intensity. No, that wasn't it. She was pulling her white tank over her head when she saw Raph's shadow close the distance to herself.

"No. Bad ball player. No more sex. Eat. Then sex." She deliberately inflected each word differently, as if she was a cave woman speaking to a small child.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him just a bit. "I know. I just wanted to tell you how beautiful your silhouette looks, naked _and_ clothed." He kissed her cheek and leaned his head against hers, swaying lightly back and forth.

"Have you been reading the dictionary again? I tell you, you're so productive now that you've retired. You're almost speaking like you were born in America."

His laugh echoed throughout the room as he released her. "You're a funny one," he said, "but it's not the dictionaries. I've been watching a lot of films in my downtime."

"Isn't all your time considered downtime now?"

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and tugged it on, smiling and shaking his head. "You're so fiesty, _mi amor_. That's what drew me to you in the first place." His voice had lowered and he stepped closer, almost catching her in his embrace before she stopped him.

"Oops. Looked like I ripped your shirt," she said, pointing to a four inch tear on the left side, right under the armpit.

"Eh, you do not like classy, anyway." He tried to continue his advance on her.

"I don't like trashy, either," she said, slapping his chest. "Grab one that I haven't torn." She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and powered it on. While she waited for it to boot up and load all the messages she was sure she'd have, she escaped to the bathroom for a quick hair and makeup check. She didn't have her purse with her, and running her fingers through her hair barely made a difference. The sink was free of everything except a bar of soap and a bottle of hand sanitizer, and she wondered how someone so obsessed with his hair had so little styling products lying around.

She opened the medicine cabinet and corrected herself, seeing the shelves piled full of gels and mousse and spray and face creams and hand creams and other assorted moisturizers. "Jesus," she thought, "I don't even have this much shit."

"Do you have a comb or a brush or... Something?" she called out, her mind still whirring from the staggering amount of cosmetics in his bathroom. How could she not have noticed this before?

"Check the shaving bag." She pulled the small leather bag from the cabinet, barely avoiding knocking down an entire shelf's worth of hair care products. The zipper glided smoothly, revealing a bag full of nothing but combs and brushes. Trying to reassure herself, she re-eyed the cabinet, looking for shaving cream or a razor, finding nothing.

"You wax," she said bluntly, grabbing a brush and a fine-toothed comb. The brush would untangle most of her hair, and the comb would make it nice and neat and presentable.

"No. I tried it once," he replied, stepping into the doorway. "Hurt too much. It's, uh, what do you call it? Laser removal?"

She roughly tugged the comb through her hair, not really certain if she wanted to continue the discussion. "Picked out a place for us to eat yet?"

"Is there something you had mind?"

"Jesus, do you need my approval on everything? I might as well have taken myself out tonight." She shoved the comb and brush back into the bag and zipped it up, shoving it back on the shelf as she closed the mirrored door.

"You're not so easy to please. And I know that you know what you want, so I figured you'd have no problem picking the place."

She barely thought it over for more than a few seconds before nodding. "Okay. Sounds accurate enough." She turned around and kissed him as she went to put on her shoes. Her phone showed three missed calls, all from Jinx, with three coincidental voicemails. She ignored it and snapped the phone back into it's clip.

* * *

They were at the restaurant no more than forty five minutes later, seated with beverages. Raph had changed into a white t-shirt that looked like it had been bought from the Baby Gap. It hugged at every one of his upper body muscles and she intermittenly thought that the slightest movement might cause the fabric to shed like a pissed off Bruce Banner.

The joint they were in, Mary noticed, was pretty comparable to a Red Lobster or Outback Steakhouse. Nothing really fancy, but it wasn't Denny's or McDonald's. The range of dress went from low casual to high casual; no real slobs, but no real rich pricks, either. Oddly enough, she found the environment comforting. The tables were spaced far enough apart to allow for private conversation. Music played relatively softly all around the dining room. There was a second when she thought of it as the kind of a place a sixteen year old would save up for just to propose to his girlfriend of three months. The thought had made her smile initially, until she recalled Raph's earlier proposal. She briefly closed her eyes and hoped against hope that he wasn't that stupid.

"American movies didn't brainwash you, did they?" she blurted, her elbows on the table, her head cocked to the side, questioning curiosity on her face.

"Uh, no, I don't think so. There are a lot more Latin actors and actresses than I thought I would see, though. Does that count?"

She shook her head sadly, reprimanding herself for thinking he would propose to her again so soon, especially when things seemed to be going so well. "Nah, that doesn't really count. Everyone's a bit surprised at the minority actor population." She gave him a lazy wink and let her eyes wander, wondering if their "server" was ever going to show back up and take their order.

They chatted idly for another few minutes until Mary saw their server, Molly, making an approach towards their table. Her relief was quickly replaced with curiosity; in the background, behind Molly, she saw Shelley making her way towards to the bathrooms.

Crazy, shrink-your-head-Shelley.

Marshall's-cooking-me-dinner-tonight Shelley.

"Order me something good," she said, at the moment not really caring about what may await her when she returned to the table. Almost everything on the menu looked great given her hunger, but her curiosity was the more pressing matter. She strode briskly towards the bathrooms, elbowing her way into the ladies' room.

Only one stall was closed, so she ducked into one two doors down and waited. She decided it would be suspicious if her side remained quiet, so she quickly slid her pants down and willed herself to urinate to make her interrogation more authentic. Once she got started, though, she had to will herself to stop when she heard the other toilet flush. She hurriedly finished up and nearly tumbled out of the stall, catching Shelley as she was reaching for paper towels to dry her hands.

"Shelley? Is that you? Wow. You look great."

"Mary," she said, smiling and nodding politely. "Nice to see you."

"I didn't expect to see you here. What, did Marshall catch your kitchen on fire?" she joked, rubbing her own hands together under the stream of water in the sink.

"What? Why would Marshall be catching my kitchen on my fire? Is he an arsonist?" she questioned. "No, he couldn't be," she quickly corrected.

"Oh. So you guys just decided to go out instead, enjoy the night?" She pasted a half-knowing grin on her face, hoping to coax the woman into submission.

"Mary... What are you talking about?" The question caught her off guard and she fumbled for a minute, snatching a couple of brown paper towels and vigorously wiping her hands.

"You and Marshall, on a date? He was gonna cook you dinner at your place, maybe talk a walk around Albuquerque?"

"I haven't even talked to Marshall since the Miles case I was brought in on. I thought I put on a hell of a show for him. Eventually I just came right out and asked him out for coffee. He just said he was waiting for someone else; clammed up afterwards. I figured his wife or girlfriend or whatever was out of town. Why in the world would you think we were on a date?"

Mary sighed heavily, the confusion on her face evident. "Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry, Shelley. It must've been a dream I had. You two ended up in this nice little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty nice."

"Oh."

"Anyway," she said, "it was good seeing you. And sorry for the confusion." She hurried out of the restroom, her mind swarming with thoughts of Marshall.

* * *

**Oh, oh, oh, oh! Wow. That sure sounded awkward.**

**(REVIEWS)**

**I plan on making Mary get to the bottom of this!**


	6. Christmas Eve Pt6

**Author's Notes: Ah! I'm sorry I missed a day of updating. A lot of things got in the way. And then I watched tonight's episode, and that just kinda pissed me off royally. On the bright side, it spurred me to write another chapter, and this is where I originally planned the story to end, even though this was supposed to happen at the end of Chapter One. I'm still not sure where this is going, if anywhere, but bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, as usual.**

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On the one hand, she was anxious to get back to her table, away from Shelley, where she would hopefully blend into her surroundings; on the other hand, she wanted to make her walk last as long as possible, thoughts of deception running through her over-active mind. Marshall never lied to her about anything remotely important. Considering he had apparently lied to her earlier in the day, there must be something damn important going on, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering what it was. She had no idea what possible reason he had for lying to her and leading her on.

She sat down at the table, noting that the food still hadn't been served, yet thoughts about what he'd ordered her never crossed her mind.

"Everything okay?" His voice was quieter than usual, laced with the same edge of concern that was usually there.

"Yeah, fine," she said, already unclipping her phone. She scrolled down to Marshall's number and eagerly punched the keys, sending him a text asking him how his date with Shelley was going. She was positive he'd find time to reply, even if it was just a smart-ass comment, had he actually been on a date with the woman. The minutes passed as Raph tried making conversation, all the while Mary's eyes were fixed on her phone, waiting for it to show the slightest signs of life.

"I ordered you salad and bread sticks."

"Yeah, fine," she repeated, the comment not fully sinking in. "Wait, you better be fucking joking, and if you are, it's not a good joke." Salad and fucking bread sticks? What the hell? Did he think she was Lindsay Lohan or something?

"I'm joking, Mary, lighten up. Chicken Parmesan."

"Eh," she said, contemplating it in her head. "You could've done worse." Her mind still distracted. Her phone beeped once and she snatched it up before it could even think about beeping again. She clicked on "View Now" and scanned his response, her face remaining stoic.

'Great, dinner's almost ready'. The longer she thought about him lying to her, the more pissed off she became. There was no Goddamn reason for him to lie to her, especially about something as trivial as a date. She replied with 'Have fun' and shoved her phone back into it's clip, hoping to calm down some.

"Mary, what's going on?" His voice was lower than before, his face nearly halfway across the table.

"Work," she said, intentionally using her occupation as guise for mystery. "I'll pay for the damn food, but I really need you to take me back to get my car."

"No. Absolutely not."

She stared at him incredulously. "Fuck you, then." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'll get a damn cab."

"Jesus, calm down, that's not what I meant. I meant 'No, you're not paying for the food.' Must be something serious at work if it's got you acting this crazy. Go out to the car, I'll grab the check." He stood, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple before walking towards the hostess by the door. She felt bad for her little bout of paranoia, reprimanding herself for thinking he could be that heartless.

"Fuck it," she mumbled, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and making her way out of the restaurant. She should've known that she couldn't have an entire Christmas Eve that was devoid of stress and drama.

* * *

The ride back to Raph's apartment was accomplished in utter silence, and Mary couldn't decide if she relieved or upset by it. She was almost positive that he wasn't mad at her, but something in the pit of her stomach kept tugging at her. It reminded her of one of Jinx's favorite guilt trips that she'd heard growing up.

"I'm not mad at you, Mary," she'd start, intentionally pausing to wipe her eyes for effect. "I'm disappointed."

The thought pissed her off, but when she came back to reality and realized it was Raph and not her mother, she calmed down a bit and just wondered. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, knowing that she didn't know the answer to her own question, "You mad?"

He turned and looked at her, his eyes burning into her soul. "Why would I be mad? You're in the Witness Protection thing. Interrupted plans don't really sound uncommon, from what I've been reading. I just want you to be safe." He grabbed her hand in his and placed a kiss on her knuckles, returning the tangled bunch of limbs to center console.

"Just checking," she said offhand, doing her best to not pay attention to how thoughtful his words were. The last thing she needed was to be getting in too deep in a relationship. She'd already broken one rule about letting him know her profession; she'd be damned if she let him trick her into talking about it. The worst of it all, she thought, was that his concern was genuine. He would never try to force her to reveal details of her job; he was just concerned for her well being and wanted to make sure she was okay. She shrugged it off, knowing that she wasn't ready to commit to anything.

It only made her feel worse that she wasn't abandoning him on Christmas Eve for the job; She was doing it for own morbid curiosity and her concern for her partner. Letting Raph know her true intentions, though, was sure to start a fight, and she knew she wasn't in the mood to deal with that.

She gave him a parting kiss as she climbed into her decrepit car, doing her best to avoid his gaze. The sooner she got away from his prying eyes, the easier she could breathe. She knew she wasn't bound by any contracts to honor his wishes, but she also knew that her relationship with him was one of the few decent things in her life. And with that firmly planted in her subconscience, she pulled out of the driveway and drove off without a second thought.

* * *

The living room light of Marshall's house shined dimly through the drapes, letting her know that he was still awake. She eased the Probe in behind his truck, not really caring if it announced her presence or not. This wasn't the time for secrecy; that ship had long since sailed. Yet for some reason, she shut her door with so little force that she questioned whether it was fully shut or not. She hip-checked it just in case and made her way to the front door, doing her best to put on a neutral face as she rang the bell. He may be her best friend, but this didn't feel like a moment to walk inside uninvited. It was killing her to remain level-headed, but she hoped it would pay off, hoped that she was just overreacting.

The door opened seconds later, Marshall's lanky frame filling the empty space. His attire suggested he was nearly in bed already, and his face told her he hadn't been sleeping yet.

"Mary... Hey." His voice was uneven, surprised, but he still stepped aside and halfway ushered her inside.

"Hey." As soon as she crossed the threshold, her eyes were roaming over the dining room and living room, trying to decide if he had actually had company earlier.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to come by, see how you were doing. It's Christmas Eve, after all."

"What if I had been 'in the throes of passion', as you so eloquently put it?"

"Please! You're more conservative than a monk. I'd be surprised if the date lasted past nine."

"Fair point," he said, eying her suspiciously. "Excuse me." As soon as the bathroom door shut, she hurried to kitchen for a quick inventory. One plate in the sink. One glass. One fork. It all seemed sketchy for someone who had supposedly had company recently, yet it played into her theories perfectly.

"You'll never guess who I ran into while we were at dinner," she said, not even letting him get to the living room before she started in.

"Random stranger? Old witness? Jinx?"

"Shelley." The word came out flat, a small smile plastered on her face.

"Like... 'Hey, I'm Here To Shrink Your Head' Shelley?"

"Who else?"

"Wow. That's... That is really astonishing. I didn't think my food was nearly that bad. Different strokes for different folks." He shrugged and laid himself into the recliner, facing the black screen of the television but still able to keep her in his peripheral vision.

"Okay, cut the fucking act," she said, dropping herself on the edge of the couch. "I know you didn't have a date tonight, and that's fine. I couldn't care less. What pisses me off is that you'd lie to me about it, repeatedly. Seriously, Marshall, what the fuck?" Her words had gotten away from her. She didn't intend for it to fall out like it did, but that's what happened, and there was no changing it. "We've been partners for how long? And you still feel the need to lie and hide shit from me? I would've swore to God I knew you."

"Five years."

"What? Five years of what?"

He breathed deeply through his nose. "That's how long it's been since we actually became friends instead of partners. Five years. Exactly. We had a relocation, had to drive to Colorado Springs. One of the worst motels I've ever stayed in, but you made it bearable. Hell, you made it enjoyable. As soon as the Denver Marshals picked her up, we got a 12 pack and ordered a pizza. We were both too tired to drive, too tired to deal with regular Christmas Eve happenings. That was the first night you called me your friend." His gaze was focused on the coffee table, unable to meet hers.

"Yeah. I remember. What I don't get is what the hell it has to do with tonight."

He rose and made his way to his bedroom, avoiding her stare the entire time, even as he emerged with a box and handed it to her. "What's this?"  
He didn't say anything; didn't even look at her. Another moment of silence and she opened the flaps of the box. The first thing she saw was an intricately carved wooden angel, the detail work astonishing. It was smooth yet rugged, graceful and fierce. She spent a minute or two turning it over in her hands, running her fingers over every inch of it before setting it aside and looking in the box again. Below a thin layer of tissue paper was a knife. She knew from the sight of it that it wasn't just any knife, though; it was an American Lawman 58AL. The blade itself was only three and a half inches, but it was stainless steel, coated with a black Teflon finish, able to kill any living thing given the proper knowledge. It barely weighed five ounces, and it's pocket/belt clip lay underneath it. She'd mentioned it to Marshall once or twice in "passing interest", never actually believing she'd spend over a hundred dollars for such a small survival knife. And now, she twirled it around her hands, eyes wide, mouth all but agape.

"I don't understand."

"Fifth anniversary," he mumbled. "Traditional gift is wood, modern is silverware. Kinda used my own interpretation on the latter. Didn't exactly know which group to classify you in, so I did both."

"I'm busting my ass here, but I'm still not getting where this is going."

"Look," he breathed, standing up. "I was excited about this. I know it's stupid, but I was. And then I found out you had plans with the ball player. I wasn't about to have you choose between a date with your boyfriend and a lame night about a superficial anniversary. I was going to slip you the presents tomorrow, listen to you nag me about how much of a girl I was, and be done with it. That's why I made up the date." He'd done his best to keep his mouth shut, but the words just kept pouring out against his better judgment. "I'm sorry, about everything, but I'm tired. I need to get to sleep."

She pushed herself off the couch and closed the distance between them, her lips landing just to the side of his; definitely not a cheek kiss.

"Goodnight, Marshall. Thank you." She made sure she caught his gaze and held it for a few seconds, hoping the look conveyed enough of her appreciation. She picked up the gifts and let herself out, not trusting her own ability to continue the conversation. How in the hell had she not remembered something that was as equally important to them both? He was the only real friend she had, yet she forgot a day like this. She tried to placate herself, reminding herself that he had never made an attempt to celebrate any of the other "anniversaries"; that she'd done nothing wrong.

Regardless of how much she believed it, it didn't do anything to ease the painful guilt that had built up in her stomach.

* * *

**Wow. Any thoughts? Or, eh, perhaps REVIEWS?**


	7. Christmas Eve Pt7

**I recently rewatched most of Season 3, and that reminded me of this story and how it kinda fell to the wayside. After reading through it, and reading all of the amazing reviews, I've decided to *try* to breathe new life into it. I sincerely apologize for the year-long hiatus, but hopefully by the end of this chapter, I'll be well on my way to forgiveness. And now, on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to this show. At all. Yet.**

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Mary stood on Marshall's front porch, the dim light illuminating the moths that hovered around the bulb. She gazed blankly at the dark sky, every once in a while catching a glimmer of a few stars. The air seemed chillier than it had when she first arrived and, despite her best efforts, she was reading into it too much. Did it just feel that way because of the monster-sized guilt hole burning in her gut? Was she seeing herself as such a cold and empty person that she didn't even deserve warmth?

"Get a grip. It feels colder because it's colder," she muttered, closing her eyes and drawing in a slow breath. She picked up the wooden angel from the box and studied it a bit more, trying to draw additional conclusions. She thought back to her first impression of it; Smooth yet rugged, graceful and fierce. It was only then, at least ten minutes after the fact, that it finally dawned on her.

That's exactly what Marshall saw when he looked at her. "Perfectly flawed" seemed like a phrase he'd use to describe her, and she figured he'd probably said those exact words to her at some point before. These weren't just gifts between partners, or even between friends. Post-modern chivalry? Marshall's intellectual attempt at courting? She wasn't sure what it was. She only knew what it wasn't. And it wasn't superficial, it wasn't an empty gesture.

She laid the box at her feet and swung open his front door, not even bothering to think that it could've been locked or how embarrassing it would've been. She immediately spotted him standing by the kitchen counter, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. A multitude of emotions flashed across his face simultaneously. Shock, confusion, embarrassment, joy, and those were just the ones that she noticed. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, momentarily resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heart thundering in her ear and it made her smile.

"Thank you, for everything. It was really... You. And I'm sorry that I forgot. No excuses, no explanations. Just I'm sorry."

Without waiting for a reply, silently hoping one wouldn't come, she exited just as fast as she returned. Grabbing the box off the porch, she made her way to her Probe and drove into the night, feeling slightly better about the way things had ended. Unfortunately for her, she was just getting started.

* * *

The clock on her stereo told her it was 9:26, and it took a double-take for her to actually believe it. She thought maybe the radio was just tuned to 92.6, and that her eyes had deceived her. No such luck. She was baffled by how slowly the night was going by, considering everything that had happened. She made a mental note to herself, adding this to the list of reasons why she despised holidays. She ran a hand through her hair, one of her famous tics, and unclipped her phone from her belt. She scrolled down to Raph's number, keeping one eye on the road, and hit send.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

"Hello?" About time he answered.

"Hey. Are you still up?"

"I am. Is something wrong?"

"I'll see you in about ten minutes." She hung up, silently scolding herself for assuming he was at home. She was almost positive that he was, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she was often presumptuous, even if she was nearly always right.

She spent the entire drive trying to come up with what she was going to say once she finally got there. If only Marshall could have written her speech, or at least made some index cards. By the time she pulled up in front of his place, the only thing she was sure of was "We need to talk.". Very elaborate.

He opened the door before she had a chance to, his trademarked Concerned Face concentrated on her. "Is everything okay?"

"We need to talk." Well, so far, so good. She hated speeches. She hated giving them, she hated listening to them, she hated everything pertaining to them. Yet this was one time where she'd have to make one. She couldn't really skimp on the details and gloss over the basic points.

He grabbed two beers from the fridge as she sat down, handing one to her. It was like he could read her mind. For a moment, she wished that was true. She wouldn't have to make the speech, she could just let him read it from her mind and see what happened next.

"You're amazing, Raph. Really, you are. You're actually the only guy I've ever been with that never tried to take advantage of me, and I appreciate it. It's a good thing, though, because I'd kick your ass if you tried. Ask around, that's what I do." He smiled at her and it caught her off guard. Damn it, he wasn't making this any easier. "Anyway, for years now, I've been so caught up in my own world, with my own problems and issues and insecurities that I never really think about how my choices affect others. I make decisions based on what I think is best for me, is safer for me. Like when you proposed, I said no because I wasn't ready for the commitment, I wasn't ready for the chance of getting hurt and abandoned again." She immediately regretted the wording of her last sentence. As soon as it left her lips, she knew it sounded like she had reconsidered his proposal. The look on his face said that he thought the same thing. The corners of his mouth started tugging into a little smile, and for a second she thought she could literally feel her heart breaking. "That's what makes this so hard. Everything that's happened tonight has made me realize that there are times when I need treat other people better than I do. Especially you."

She paused just long enough to take a deep pull from her beer, thankful that he decided not to talk.

"Things between us have really been up and down, but lately, they've been great. The sex, the conversations, the company, the sex. And I love you. I really, honestly do love you, Raph... But I don't love you enough. I've tried to picture our future together, later on down the road, but I just can't. Maybe it has to do with the stress of my job, and my family, I don't know. I just know that you deserve so much better than what I can bring to the table. I'm so emotionally closed off, and maybe I'll always be that way. But I can't keep doing this to you, dragging it out and everything. You want marriage. Kids. I'm not sure about any of that. I'm sorry." She kept her eyes locked on his for only a few seconds before the anticipation became too much. She averted her gaze, staring at the coffee table, her leg uncontrollably bouncing up and down, wishing he'd just say something.

"I love you, Mary, very much. Enough to make this work, but you're right. I hold onto the idea that someday you'll come around, you'll want to settle down with a family, with me. And the truth is, I don't know if that would ever happen. I would wait forever for you." He might have said more. In fact, she was almost positive that he kept talking, but she couldn't hear any of it. Between her blood rushing in her ears, and hundreds of thoughts frantically flying through her mind, his voice was barely a dull roar. A minute later, they were standing. They kissed. It wasn't their usual passionate, jump-your-bones kiss, but a final Goodbye sort of kiss. Then he hugged her, held onto her, and she let him. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and soak into his shirt, but she was able to keep herself in check. She reassured herself that letting him go was the only way she could truly do right by him. She knew it would hurt, probably for quite a while, but it was something she had to do, and something that she'd deal with.

"_Buenos noches, mi amor," _were his parting words, and as strange as it sounds, it made her smile more than it made her hurt. The night air felt warmer now, like it had when she first arrived at Marshall's, and she refused to let herself think about it too much. Karma was never a concept she could truly believe in, so why bother analyzing it?

* * *

The drive back home was peaceful, mostly because with everything that happened, Jinx hadn't crossed her mind in a while. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, completely surprised at how quiet it was. Something was either definitely wrong, or definitely blissful. She expected the former but wished for the latter. She dropped Jinx's keys back on the counter where she found them and poured herself a shot. She downed it, poured another one, and finished it off, too. There, that should help her sleep.

On the way to her room, she passed by Brandi's open door and saw her sister laying in the bed with headphones on, staring at the ceiling. She had a flashback to when they were younger, how Brandi spent a majority of her time in that exact same position doing the exact same thing. The memory made her smile; at least some things never changed. She leaned in and tapped on the door, getting Brandi's attention."Merry Christmas, Squish. Goodnight."

"Mary?" She had to put on the brakes and lean backwards to peer back through the doorway. "What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired."

"Liar. Come on, you're my sister. I know when something's not right. Talk to me." Mary sighed one of her famous sighs, not really in the mood to argue about it. She reluctantly made her way into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the box with Marshall's presents on the night stand.

"How was dinner with Peter?"

"It was nice. What's in the box?" Mary handed her sister the box.

"Christmas present."

"A knife and a wooden angel? Chico has weird tastes in gifts."

"It's not from Raph. We didn't exactly make it to the gift exchanging part of the evening." Brandi set the box down and straightened up a little.

"Why, what happened?"

"I broke up with him." It wasn't until right then that she realized she had dumped her boyfriend on Christmas Eve. That guilt was burning a hole in her from both ends now.

She sat and talked with Brandi for well over an hour, telling her about everything that had happened, trying to put things in perspective for herself. The last she remembered was falling asleep next to Brandi, her sister's head resting on her shoulder.

* * *

**So, how's this for a fresh start on an old story? Is it worthy of forgiveness? Or dare I say reviews? Thank you to everyone that read this before that's giving it another shot, and thanks to all the new readers, too!  
**


	8. Christmas Eve Pt8

**I gotta say, I'm loving the reviews that I got on that last chapter. Sorry for the delay on the update, though. I've recently been treating myself to a Psych marathon, and it just occurred to me that I need to write the next chapter for this. Again, if anyone has any ideas or suggestions for this, let me know and I'll see what I can do.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this show, or any other shows. Or a porcupine. *sigh***

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By noon the next day, Mary was utterly surprised that there had been no witness relocation yet. By the grace of God, or some other equally outstanding reason, a handful of witnesses had actually called and said they were thinking about contacting their family back home. This allowed them the chance to intervene, remind them that they could send letters through the Marshals office, and generally handhold and babysit. By contrast, though, it was better than wasting countless hours and funds relocating them.

The atmosphere of the office felt slightly stranger than usual. Her and Marshall had exchanged subtle glances every now and then, yet neither one of them really spoke. It made her uncomfortable, but she knew there was a good chance he was still partially embarrassed by what had transpired the night before. To be honest, so was she. She thought she'd set the record for the longest, most emotionally charged speeches of her life.

She hated vulnerable. She hated it with a passion unlike almost anything else. Last night, though, she didn't have a choice. If she hadn't done so much talking and introspection, her relationship with Marshall would have taken a giant hit, she would've ended up hurting Raph a lot more in the long run, and Brandi would've ended up growing even more distant from her. All in all, she felt relatively decent about how things had ended up, although she was completely unsure of the future. Nothing new there.

She grabbed her jacket and paused by Marshall's desk, looking down at his hands instead of at his face. "Lunch?"

"You're buying?"

"You know me better than that," she laughed, making her way to the elevator, confident that he'd fall in step behind her. Thankfully he did. Going back to "fetch" him would've been a little more awkward than she'd prefer. Like yesterday, they went to Amer-Asia; one of the few decent places that were actually open on Christmas Day. Also like yesterday, they were in his truck due to his irrational fear of her ancient car. She was pretty certain that if it was going to explode, it would've done so at least three years ago.

They had finished lunch and were sitting at the table finishing their drinks when Mary reached inside her jacket pocket. She pulled out a present, long and slender like something a necklace or bracelet would come in and passed it to Marshall. It wasn't wrapped, but there was a small silver bow on the red box.

"What's this?"

"A friggin' toaster. Open it." He eyed her suspiciously, smiling inwardly at her comment. At least the banter was returning. He removed the lid and stared at the contents for a good thirty seconds before meeting her eyes.

"A chopstick?"

"Traditional present is wood," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Wait, this is the one from yesterday, isn't it?" She paused, studying his face.

"Maybe." He smiled at her, his eyes lingering on hers.

"It'll be difficult to eat with one chopstick. Maybe I could frame it. Hang it above the fireplace, put in some recessed lighting to give it that special glow."

"Alright, alright," she said, waving off his sarcasm. At least she thought it was sarcasm. "The present has a double meaning. I know you weren't able to make it to Texas to be with your family. To be honest, I'm glad. I want you to have dinner with us tonight," she said matter-of-factly.

"Dinner with the Shannons and Peter and the ball player. That sounds like quite a mixer." She winced slightly at his words.

"No ball player."

"Oh, I wasn't implying that you uninvite him, I was just making a comment." He could feel his face growing red at the same time he felt his stomach do a little flip. He'd dreamed about dinner with Mary on more than one occasion, and now that the chance was here, he was fumbling with his words.

"I broke it off." Her words snapped him out of his inner monologue and he jerked to attention.

"What? Why? What happened?" He scolded himself for acting like a bumbling idiot, yet silently cheered that they were no longer together. He'd known since Day One that they weren't meant for each other, but giving Mary relationship advice was like showering with a hungry bear; You just don't do it.

"Essentially? We wanted different things," she said, her gaze momentarily dropping to his mouth. 'And people,' she added silently, surprising herself. She knew that she had feelings for Marshall on some level, but she never expected these thoughts to invade her mind.

"Ah, the old red wine versus white wine debacle," he said knowingly, grinning widely at her.

"Can it, buddy." She couldn't help smiling at his sarcasm. "So you're coming, right? 'Cause I'm not taking no for an answer. You might as well just say yes."

He briefly debated arguing with her about it, dragging it out to get a rise out of her but ultimately thought better of it.

"Of course I'll be there," he said, "if only to act as cannon fodder. Sacrifice me at your will." She smiled at his words, noticing that she'd been doing that a lot during lunch.

"You have no idea."

* * *

When they finally left work, Marshall followed Mary to her house and parked on the street, still untrusting of the Probe. Knowing his luck, it'd probably roll backwards and slam into his truck.

"Well. Here goes nothing," she told him, bracing herself for what was sure to be a memorable evening, despite her prayers. When she opened the front door, her nostrils were assaulted by various delicious aromas, and it caused her to think that she might've walked into the wrong house by accident. A quick glance to the kitchen reassured her, though she still wasn't one hundred percent sure she hadn't stepped into the Twilight Zone. Brandi and Jinx were both in the kitchen; Brandi running from pot to pan to skillet and back again, Jinx standing idly by, a wine glass in her hand.

Okay, maybe this _was_ her house after all.

"The food smells great, Squish."

It was as if Brandi just noticed her sisters presence and glanced up. "Oh, hey! Thanks."

"No, I mean it's incredibly frightening. The last time I remember you cooking, the fire department got called out. Twice."

"Thanksgiving of '99," she laughed. "Don't worry, Peter's been teaching me all sorts of things. Not one fire yet!" Mary shot Peter a silent 'thank you', grateful that at least the food would be good. He replied with one of his nods and raised his glass of water to her.

"Ah, drinks," she said. "Thanks for reminding me." She went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers, passing one to Marshall, who was still standing awkwardly in front of the door.

"That's not your boyfriend," Jinx noted, studying Marshall a little too closely. Apparently Happy Hour started a little before five.

"No, Mom, it's not. We broke up. This is Marshall."

"I know who it is!" she snapped. "When did you break up?"

Mary sighed, suddenly aware that she'd have to go on another beer run before the night was over if things kept going like this. "Last night."

"Last night? You break up with a boy on Christmas Eve and bring another one to dinner the next day?"

"Mom!" This time it was Brandi speaking, her voice accusing, warning her mother to be quiet.

"What? It's not like it's a lie."

"Leave it alone, Mom, please." To her credit, Brandi was trying incredibly hard to keep the peace this year. Mary briefly wondered if their lengthy chat the night before had anything to do with it. "I'm glad you could make it, Marshall, and I apologize ahead of time."

He decided to put on a brave face and push ahead. "No, it's fine. Mary loves to subject me to torturous activities." He turned and gave her a small smile, not wanting her to take it the wrong way.

"She does it to everybody. I never thought Peter would've been able to stick around."

"It's not that bad," he piped up from the living room, hoping to divert attention away from the obvious fact that Jinx was getting ran down the road.

The conversation fizzled out, thankfully, when Jinx hastily excused herself and went to her room. A couple of minutes later, Brandi joined the three of them in the living room and they chatted idly. Mary noticed that whenever someone asked Marshall a question about her, a bit of red would start creeping up his neck and he'd wipe his hands on his jeans. She loved it, the way he got so flustered when Brandi did her best Jinx impression and asked "What are your intentions with my daughter?" He kept opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out, and it drew a laugh from everyone. Mary saw the look in his eyes, though, and knew he had an answer. He just didn't know how, or didn't want, to say it.

Dinner passed uneventfully. Jinx came out and joined them, managing to be more civil than before. Peter said he was thinking about opening another dealership, though he never specified where it would be. Marshall insisted on helping Brandi with the dishes, regardless of the sisters' protests, citing that "My mother would kill me for such a rude affront."

Brandi washed, Marshall rinsed and dried. They were on the last few dishes when Marshall lowered his voice and said "To make her happy." It took her a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but then the light bulb clicked on. Those were his intentions. She thought about it for a minute and decided that it was probably the best answer to that question. She liked Chico, but on some instinctive level, she knew that he wasn't meant for Mary. There was always something missing. But that night at dinner, even she could feel the electric connection that her sister had with Marshall. She saw the glances they stole at each other, knowing looks that said things that couldn't be put into words. There was definitely something between them, and even if they didn't realize it yet, Brandi was sure that they would at some point. You can't deny something like that, no matter how hard you try.

She spent the rest of the evening sneaking peeks at them, a knowing smile on her face. She assumed that Peter knew it, too, because whenever Marshall and Mary shared one of their "secret glances", he would squeeze her shoulder a little and pull her closer.

It was a little after ten when Marshall glanced at his watch. "It's getting late," he said as he stood. "I should get going. Work in the morning."

"I'll walk you out," Mary blurted, thinking it sounded a lot smoother in her head. She didn't catch Brandi and Peter sharing a quick, knowing glance.

The air outside was cool and crisp, the sky clear and cluttered with thousands of stars. "That wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be," he said, leaning against the door of his truck.

"Yeah, I was shocked, too. Started off pretty rough."

"Great dinner, though. Brandi should start a catering business or something."

"Oh God, keep your voice down!" she stage-whispered, punching his arm. "She might hear you."

He laughed and rubbed bicep, his breath coming out in a fog between them. "Thank you, for the whole night. It's gotta be the best Christmas I've ever spent away from my family."

She paused, unknowingly leaning closer to him, lowering her voice. "I'm your family."

The words caught him off guard, but stirred something inside of him. He knew she meant it as partners, but the sentiment was still there. "Then this is one of my top five best Christmases."

"Only top five?" she pouted, feeling her own breath bounce off of his face and hit her. She brushed her hand against his, slowly intertwining their fingers.

"I've had a lot of Christmases." Their voices were gradually getting lower, barely above a whisper now, their faces so close that they couldn't see anything except each others eyes.

Mary ran her other hand up his arm, closing the distance and brushing her lips against his. The contact was soft, barely noticeable, both of their eyes closing automatically. Marshall brought his own hand up and caressed her cheek, slowly deepening the kiss. In a matter of seconds, they were pressed against each other, their kisses teetering on the edge of frantic, as if this was their one and only chance. When he broke away a minute later, she rested her forehead on his shoulder.

"Top three," he corrected, wrapping his arms around her.

* * *

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